Chapter Six.
"Come Back to Us"
Tim slowly pulled his car alongside the curb in front of the immaculately maintained two-story house. On a Sunday's early evening, the neighborhood was mostly quiet. A teenager practiced his jump shot down the street and two young girls, bundled up against the fifty-degree chill, drew pictures on the sidewalk pavement with colored chalk.
He suddenly wondered how painful this family-friendly neighborhood was for Gibbs. The man was perhaps the only solitary inhabitant living within a five-block radius, constantly surrounded by echoes and glimpses of the road his life could have taken. It was depressing to think about, at any rate. Then again, Gibbs probably only thought about it in passing nowadays, when a fond memory came or even when bad one did. It was hard to avoid everyday life, and there were only so many years of one's life that could be lived in complete sadness and regret. Much like happiness, sorrow came and went.
Tim shut off his car and stepped out onto the neatly manicured piece of lawn that separated curb from sidewalk, watching carefully for dog turds. A few bright yellow leaves littered the grass, courtesy of the mature oak trees that lined the streets. He had to step around the little girls. They giggled and gasped when he accidentally stepped on a colorfully drawn flower.
"Sorry, girls," he apologized genuinely.
"The rain'll wash it all away anyways," one of them answered before getting back to work on their joint masterpiece.
Gibbs' door was unlocked, and as it swung inward, Tim wondered if he should shout out a greeting. The last thing he wanted was a Sig pointed in his face. But he heard noises coming from the kitchen, and the warm scent of dinner hit him at the boundary between foyer and porch. Tim shut the door loudly, hoping to clue Gibbs in that someone was here.
The noises in the kitchen stopped. "Tony?" Gibbs called out DiNozzo's given name. Tim instantly thought that maybe Gibbs was expecting Tony tonight - and definitely not him.
Tim stepped into the kitchen doorway. Gibbs was stirring a pot of something on the stove. He was slightly surprised by the show of domesticity, even though he knew that was a foolish thought. Even Leroy Jethro Gibbs was an everyday human performing everyday tasks to maintain his everyday life. "No, uh- It's McGee."
"I can see that now, Tim," Gibbs answered dryly.
"You're not in the basement." Tim's attempts at conversation were notably awkward. He immediately bit his tongue at such a dumb statement.
Gibbs appeared amused. "Well, yeah. I happen to live in a whole house." He turned back to his dinner.
Tim shifted in place as he fought for words… or something. Maybe a socially appropriate action. Something other than standing here like some scarecrow. Right now, he might as well be a coat rack in the corner of Gibbs' foyer.
"Take a load off, McGee. You're making me nervous, standing there like that. At this point, DiNozzo would've already taken over the couch, eaten half my dinner, and talked my ear off."
Tim's face felt hot, but he forced himself to sit at the table. He slung his coat over the back of his chair. He liked Gibbs' house. It was clean, uncluttered and sparsely decorated, but still it felt distinctly… like a home. "He come here often?"
"Who? Tony?" Gibbs shook his head. "Not as much as he used to." He grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. "You hungry?"
"Uh - no, that's okay."
Gibbs put a bowl of steaming soup in front of Tim anyway. He sat down with his own. He took a pull off of a bottle of beer before adding a liberal amount of Tabasco sauce to his bowl. "So, you gonna share with me why 'the powers that be' put you on limited duty?"
Tim put a cracker in the soup before poking at it with his spoon. It was stubbornly buoyant. "I think you already know."
Gibbs started eating in earnest. He was the kind of person that engulfed the entire spoon while eating soup. There was a lot of tooth against metal clacking going on. Whereas Tim was more of a sipper of soup and then a nibbler on whatever solid chunks appeared from the liquid.
Tim was also the kind of person who tended to notice these pointless little details.
"You're right." Between bites, Gibbs broke him out of his endless thoughts. "I do."
"Did DiNozzo tell you?" Tim put down his spoon and sat back in the chair.
Gibbs grunted as if Tim had just claimed that the sky was blue.
"Fuck him," Tim muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead and into his hair.
"Come again?" Gibbs asked, having heard Tim say something.
Tim flushed. "Nothing."
"I've taught him to tell me things that are important," Gibbs went on. He pointed his spoon at Tim. "You should have told me sooner."
"I know." Tim had to admit that he didn't mind that Tony had done so. In fact, he even appreciated it. A lot.
"Look, Tim." Gibbs pushed away his already empty bowl. "I wanted you on this team because of your mind, and I'll be damned if you let that same mind ruin your career. I know you've been talking to DiNozzo, but he's not much of a therapist-"
"Better than you might think. At least he talks, unlike you," Tim added in jest. He couldn't believe he was joking with Leroy Jethro Gibbs…
Gibbs cracked a rare grin and took a long draw from the beer bottle. "Yeah, he's good at that; he can do my talking for me."
"He mentioned that you might have some advice for me," Tim added. Slowly, he began to eat his now-lukewarm soup again.
"For you, I have something more unique." Gibbs stood and put his bowl in the sink. He then turned and looked his junior field agent straight in the eye. "Get better. I want you back out there before snow starts to fly... Or else I just might kill DiNozzo."
